


To See You Alive

by Arwriter



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Protective Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Rescue, Things go wrong in the Imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: Roman comes to Virgil's rescue.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 154





	To See You Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I've been super busy this week, but I was able to finish something short in between school stuff

Virgil wasn’t lucky enough to fall unconscious, but he wasn’t exactly aware enough to be sure of what was happening anymore. 

There were still ropes digging painfully into his skin, wrapped around his wrists and ankles, keeping him firmly secured to the chair he’d been seated in for god only knew how long now. 

The stab wound in his side was probably still steadily oozing blood, and Virgil figured it was probably a bad thing the injury was now too numb to be painful. He couldn’t find the energy to be concerned about it. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been here, surrounded by angry, nameless enemies, conjured only with the intention to hurt. The minutes had bled into hours, and after that time had just blurred together into one endless string of pain and confusion. 

He felt unbearably helpless. He was Anxiety, not Creativity, he had no sway over the Imagination. And this wasn’t one of Roman or Remus’s stupid pranks like he’d thought at first. Because Virgil was hurt and scared and Roman would never  _ ever  _ let that happen. 

Which meant no one knew what had happened or where he was. 

God, he just wanted to go home. He was so  _ tired. _

Now though...now he thought something was different as he slowly came back to his semi aware state. There was something pressed against his neck, something cold and sharp that made his already shallow breath hitch. 

He tried to flinch away from it, plagued with the bitter reminder of what had happened last time a knife had come anywhere near him, but all that he got for his trouble was a rough hand grabbing his jaw, keeping him firmly in place. He was too tired to fight against the pained whimper that escaped. 

It proved to be a mistake, the hand on his jaw moving to press against his mouth, silencing him further and making it almost impossible to take a proper breath, his nose already clotted with blood. 

There were noises around him, voices filtering in like they were coming in through a far away tunnel. He’d been able to faintly identify the voice of the villain that had taken him in the first place- just one more part of the Imagination that apparently hated him- but now...now there was another voice. 

It was crisper, just barely filtering in through Virgil’s haze of pain and exhaustion, and he realized suddenly how familiar it was. 

“Get your hands  _ off of him.”  _

The voice was angry, but not like his captor’s had been, vile and cruel and hateful for no reason other than mindless violence. This voice was strong, ringing with dark, protective rage, and Virgil…Virgil recognized the sound. 

His vision was blurry, and he didn’t have the strength or freedom to move his head, but out of the corner of his eye he could just barely see…

He could see a glimpse of a white suit and black boots. The voice sharp enough to cut through steel sounded like safety. It sounded like home. 

If Virgil had the strength he would have sobbed against the hand keeping him still and silent. 

Roman was here. Roman was here like the heroic prince he was, like he always told tales of being, dashing and strong and  _ god  _ Virgil wanted to be safe at home, wrapped up in his arms. 

He would be soon. Roman was here- here for  _ him.  _ No one had forgotten about him. No one had left him behind to fend for himself. No one had left him to die. 

It took Virgil a second to realize the knife had been pulled away from his neck, the presence pressed up behind him suddenly gone. 

There was no more talking, no sight of Roman (and Virgil really  _ really  _ hoped he hadn’t imagined his prince coming to the rescue) but there was a blur of movement around him, loud sounds his scrambled brain couldn’t even hope to latch onto. 

He didn’t know how long had passed, it could have been hours or merely a few seconds, but the room suddenly fell silent. No more jeers and threats, no more sharpening of knives and swords. 

And then there were footsteps moving towards him, each step deafening against the heavy silence, and Virgil somehow found the strength to flinch. It didn’t do much other than aggravate the rope burns on his wrists. 

“Oh,  _ Virgil.”  _

And that was Roman,  _ his  _ Roman, the Prince hurrying closer to the chair Virgil was tied to, strong and worried and  _ real.  _

Virgil wanted to sob. He wanted to scream and fall apart and rush into Roman’s arms and never let go. He wanted to hold Roman tight to remind himself that his life outside this nightmare wasn’t a dream. It was real-  _ he was real-  _ and he hadn’t been forgotten. 

But he couldn’t. Everything hurt so bad and he couldn’t even keep his head up on his own, his chin resting against his chest, still tied and useless against the chair. 

It didn’t matter, though, because suddenly the Prince was kneeling in front of him. There were hands carefully framing his face, tilting his chin up, allowing Virgil to finally meet Roman’s wide, panicked eyes. 

“Oh god.” Roman’s voice was small and trembling, and Virgil would give anything for the Prince to stop sounding so scared. “Gosh, Virgil. Oh my god, I’m so  _ sorry,  _ Stormcloud.” 

Virgil knew he should say something, that his silence was obviously terrifying Roman, but he couldn’t force his mouth to move. He could barely see, barely think, his attention focused solely on the warm hands against his skin, a welcome distraction from the pain. 

But suddenly those were gone, and then there was tugging against the ropes wrapped around his wrists, and Virgil sucked in a small breath at the new wave of pain. 

“I know,” Roman said, his thumb briefly running along Virgil’s knuckles. “I know, Darling, I know. It’ll be ok. I promise you’re alright now.” 

Time continued to pass in a distant blur, everything meaningless except the pain and Roman’s constant reassurances in his ear. 

Eventually the ropes on his arms and legs were cut away, and Virgil was free to move. Except he didn’t, of course, unable to stop himself from slumping further into the chair he wanted out of so badly. 

But Roman was back in front of him, cupping Virgil’s face in his hands like something delicate, and Virgil found he really didn’t care about the pain right now. Not when Roman was looking at him like Virgil was the center of his whole world. 

“Virgil,” Roman was saying, strained and frantic. “Say something, please. Come on, Stormcloud, talk to me. Please, let me hear your voice. God,  _ please  _ Virge. Let me know you’re alright.” 

And Virgil so  _ badly  _ wanted to. He wanted to smile and softly call Roman’s name until the Prince no longer looked quite so desperate. He wanted to laugh and tease, fall back into their familiar banter until things were back to normal. He wanted to jump up and wrap his arms around Roman, hold him close and thank him over and over again until his voice was hoarse. 

But he couldn’t- no matter how much he wanted to. It took all the strength he had left just to raise one trembling hand, weakly clutching at Roman’s sleeve. 

Virgil’s eyes slipped shut as he closed his fingers around the cloth, the weight of the relief that came with Roman’s presence letting the exhaustion hit full force. He fell forward, head rested against Roman’s chest, shuddering when one of the Prince’s hands cupped the back of his neck, the other wrapped protectively around his back. 

“I’ve got you,” Roman whispered, holding him close. “I’ve got you, Virgil, I’ve got you. You’re safe, I promise you’ll be alright. You’re safe. You’re safe, darling. I’m right here.” 

Virgil wasn’t nearly strong enough to force back tears anymore, a broken sob jostling each and every bruise and scrape, and he weakly cried out, the sound small and muffled against Roman’s chest. Tears spilled over, but he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore, squeezing his eyes shut as he lost his grip on Roman’s arm. 

But the Prince didn’t go anywhere, didn’t stop his mantra of reassurances Virgil had been waiting so desperately for. 

Roman shifted his hold, one arm moving under Virgil’s legs, and he braced himself for the sudden movement. 

“You’re alright,” Roman said again, and Virgil thought he felt lips brush his forehead in a gentle kiss. It might have just been his imagination. “Let’s get you home.” 

Roman counted to three, quick and quiet, before straightening his legs and lifting Virgil off the chair, cradling the other Side close to his chest, his hold protective and secure. 

The movement pulled on the wound at Virgil’s side, and all he could manage against the pain was a ragged, agonized gasp as the world tilted and faded to black. 


End file.
